Don't say nothing
by cip
Summary: An easy enough mission goes spectacularly wrong and the least trained of all the Thunderbirds is thrown into the hot-seat. Can a miracle take place, or will a Tracey be lost to them? Rated for gore.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, first things first, this was a request from my darling Manu-seme. She wanted her favourite character to get a bit beaten around and I was happy to oblige. This means lots of happy angst, Yay! And there's some angst for my ikkle Squidy-pie too, since quite a bit of harm comes to her favourite character too. And since she's currently sitting next to me and knows how to handle a gun – weapon, sorry weapon! – I'm dedicating this to her, as she'll sulk if I don't ^_^ Luffle joo Squidit!**

**Second point. Okay, if you're trapped in some horrible situation – down a mine for example – and you've broken your leg you'd kinda want someone to strap it up properly before they get you out right? Otherwise it could slip out or Godknowswhat. So it would make sense if International Rescue knew first aid. Now working from that I think it would be realistic to say that all five brothers have basic first-aid training, but one or two would then have a greater knowledge – say, paramedic level to work in conjunction with the ambulance teams. Now I've been heavily influenced by one of the most awesome authors on this site **_**ever**_**; Little Miss Bump *jumps up and down waving at her*, so I'm stea- uh...**_**borrowing**_** her idea of Virgil having these skills (It's a compliment!!! Honest! *cowers*) but threw in Scott as well, since it suits my fic ^_^ So recap; Virge and Scotty are pretty much paramedics and the other three know basic first aid. **

**And thirdly: I'm incorporating both TV and film here, so all events from both happen. This is set about four years after the film so there is a gradual change between the film personalities and TV personalities, equipment, people and most importantly UNIFORMS! It's somewhere around now that Jeff decides to upgrade and the silver-space-suit is ditched for the much beloved blue-jump-suit-and-sash combo. Not the hat. I can't see **_**any**_** of the Tracy boys wanting the hat. Oh, and Grandma's there, since I love her character! **

**Forthly (Is that even a word, my spell checker doesn't think so): I have written this from a very weird POV; it's all from John's perspective, as if it's happening right at this moment. I don't know why I wrote it like that – but it's incredibly good fun and it's a hell of a challenge too.**

**Final point (phew, this authors note should have a chapter to itself!). I love hurting the characters I'm writing about. Anyone who knows me will know that this is a common theme in my longer fics (which have yet to be posted) and conversely enough the more I like someone the more I hurt them. So there will be injuries galore and lots of blood to keep my inner vampire happy (first person to mention Twilight gets Thunderbird one rammed up a very painful place!). I'm not stating this for gore factor, but more for the lack-of-knowledge factor, in that, I doubt I'll get every detail right. Now, I'm very anal when it comes to this sort of thing and I like to make what ever I write about to be as factually correct as possible. This does mean that although I will happily divulge in giving lots of detail on an injury, I may be less graphic on how exactly they deal with it. This is not through my lack of research, but more because I don't wish to appear dumb to someone who does actually know what should happen. I'm a biochemist folks, not a doctor.**

**And along that train of thought: Do I own Thunderbirds? Well, if I did then why would I be on here writing fanfics? DUH!**

**So, I think that's about it. And I've just written an authors note of nearly seven hundred words in less than five minutes when I struggle to write an essay abstract of two hundred and fifty in over an hour. *sigh* such is the way of life. I think all that remains for me to say is that I own nada, and please all enjoy. And just for a little enticement; all reviewers get cookies! YAY!**

**MWMWMMMWMMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMMWMWMWMW**

I watch the last ambulance drive off with an overwhelming sense of relief. Personally I can never deem a rescue complete in my own mind until the last person was safely back home or in the hands of the authorities. Of course, this often means that I will sit awake in Thunderbird five for hours after my brothers have returned home, monitoring the area and double checking the stats. Obsessive? Well, maybe. It was one of the reasons that I never seem to be allowed on many rescues – I hold the guys up by hanging back when they just want to get home.

This time is no exception.

It's one of those rare times that I'm not up in my beloved 'Bird, since it's undergoing a diagnostics check and Brains has insisted that it needs to unmanned for a month or two to act as a control. Hey, who am I to complain? Okay, so right now I'm in a bit of a state, but at least when we're not on rescues I get to spend time with my brothers. Not to mention the novelty of being down here at the same time as Alan – that hasn't happened since that Hood incident about three years ago.

Three years...the kid sure has grown since then!

He was incredible on this rescue! So mature and calm, he handled the situation like a pro. And what a situation to handle! A North Russian vodka distillery had exploded due to an over-heated fraction column and all five of us were sent in to help. It was possibly the most intense rescue that either Alan or I had been on, having to cope with the blistering inferno, the grisly corpses of those we couldn't save, the horrific injuries of those we could and all during what is possibly the coldest Russian winter to date. Of course, Scott and Virgil were used to these sort of conditions by now, and Gordon was being macho, but after fifteen hours straight I'd sent the sprout back to Thunderbird two to get himself and me a blanket. The donkey-work was done and it wasn't like we were needed other than for the logistics of seeing the ambulances off. I see no shame in being cold and admitting that I need a blanket!

Man, Virgil and Scotty are going to be in full medic mode the moment they can get us back onto Two. All of us have burns, although from what I've been able to gather no one's seriously hurt within our little family group. Not that that will stop either of them, fussy old things.

Hmm, well, Virgil's younger than me, but Scott's definitely acquiring the years now.

Ah well, it's nice to know that they can deal with it. I must admit that I envy their medical expertise at times; I took a first aid course myself, but I have absolutely no talent for it. Figures; all I'm good at is astronomy and circuit boards. Hmm, and mothering my three little brothers of course.

I tug the blanket closer around my shoulders as a sudden gust of wind flurries the snow up again and makes me shiver. I'm _so_ not used to this! I spend all my time on Thunderbird five or our tropical island home, this temperature change is very unwelcome. Seeing Alan huddling miserably under his own covering next to me I'm reminded that he has the same climate problem as I do, and I sling an arm around his shoulders to pull him close.

He glares at me but doesn't shrug me off – we're both grateful for the body-heat. This rescue has been hard on all of us, but he's definitely showing the worst signs of wear. At only nineteen he's still too young in my eyes for the horrors we've seen today, even though the rest of us were exposed to the same at his age. Nah, he'll always be my baby brother, and a part of me will never stop trying to wrap him in cotton wool. And I know he hates that since Scott and Virgil are exactly the same.

A distant rumbling under my feet draw me from these musings and Alan shifts restlessly beside me.

"What was that?" He sounds so tired, but then I suppose we all do by now.

"I'm not sure..." I tap my wrist com in the vain hope that I can get it working again despite knowing that the heat from the inferno had shattered it. I could do with talking to Scott right now; that hadn't felt good.

There's another tremor, enough to make me stand up from the rubble we had sat on to stare in consternation at the smouldering distillery.

"Alan...."

He switches his gaze from the wreckage to me with a questioning look. I don't really need him to answer my question, I'm thinking out-loud and he's just an available medium.

"How much alcohol was in there?" My voice is steady which is a surprise since a cold shock has just run through my spine. The implications of my own question are already sleeting down on me. Next to me I can see Alan go deathly pale and I reach out to steady him automatically. We both know that there are upwards of ten thousand gallons of ethanol stored in there, each in the titanic hundred gallon tanks that still stand in the factory centre. With the heat of the fire they must have reached boiling point a long time ago, only the highly tempered steel has been holding back the inevitable explosion.

"We've got to warn the others!" With both our coms down there's no other choice. I sprint off towards the flaming buildings, letting my blanket flutter away from my shoulders to land God-knows where. At least the area is cleared of civilians now, but with my other three brothers in there my heart was leaping to my mouth.

I hear Alan call something about splitting up to look before he veers off in another direction. I trust him to look after himself, although it grates against the 'older brother' centre in my brain. Damnit! This is why setting up a rescue team as a family business has it's down sides; we're constantly worrying about each other and –

---------------------------------

Intense noise, a blinding light.

What happened?

I open my eyes to see snow falling down gently unto my up-turned face. It is glowing gently, illuminated by the fire...

Fire!

The distillery, the ethanol tanks, one of them must have blown!

I roll onto my stomach, my head pounding from the ringing in my ears. Damnit, I must have been pretty close to it, it feels like I've got a burn along the side of my cheek. Resting my forearms on the ground I attempt to use them to push myself to my knees...

Holy _Hell_!!!

Crippling pain shoots through my left wrist, to the point that black stars swim across my vision. Shit. I know a broken bone when I feel one. How bad is it...? Gingerly I roll my torn sleeve up to assess the damage done...

_Mary mother of God!_

I hurriedly pull the material back, trying to keep down the bile that has bubbled up my throat. Okay, quite a bit of damage done then. Thankfully the flood of adrenaline through my body dulls the pain somewhat. I think I've heard Brains refer to this as an open oblique fracture – a break running diagonal to the bone's axis – but to me it just means I have two jagged lengths of bone erupting from the side of my wrist. Shit. Scotty and Virge are gonna have a field day with this one!

Clutching my useless arm to my chest I re-attempt sitting up and this time succeed. There is flaming debris scattered as far as I can see and despite my head now clearing a little from the fog that had consumed it, there is still a shrill ringing in my right ear. I carefully reach up and feel the slick wetness sliding down the side of my face. Oh you're kidding me! A ruptured eardrum as well? My day is just getting better and better! I sure hope that the others aren't too badly hurt or our dear paramedics will have their hands full with us –

CRAP!!! Where were my brothers when that thing went up? God, if any of them were near it...

Forgetting that I've just burst my ear-drum I scramble to my feet. Oh hell, not a good idea! The world swims dizzyingly around me as I struggle to keep my footing and I grind out a few choice swear words. Okay, lets try this a little _slower_.

It takes me a few faltering steps before I can successfully work around my impaired balance, but right now I'm determined enough to get back to that building even if I have to _crawl_ there. Thankfully it doesn't look like I'll have to since after a couple of long strides I feel confident enough to break into a run.

I don't notice how long it takes me to find a way back into the smouldering ruin, screaming my brother's names as I do so. It's hard going since I didn't stop to put on a respirator. In retrospect that was a dumb thing to do; the air inside is stifling, and the fire is robbing it of the remaining oxygen. Oh well, too late to worry about that now.

It feels like hours before I hear someone call my name, although I know it can only have been minutes. I struggle through the smoke trying to pin-point the sound – I hadn't fully appreciated how much my ear injury will hold me back until now – and at last I get a clear fix on it. I hear my name called again – although the noise is still hazy – but much clearer and worrying I hear a cry of pain.

There's a tangle of broken metal blocking my way, and I spend an agonising few minutes trying to crawl through. Once on the other side I almost wish I hadn't been able to find a way into the small space.

Virgil is kneeling down with his back to me, a sparse selection of medical supplies scattered around him. I don't realise what he's concentrating on until a shriek of pain echoes around the confined space. My heart stops in my chest.

Oh dear God, _Gordon!_

I stumble the last few steps and collapse to my knees next to Vigil, already looking past him and at my second youngest brother.

"Watch what the hell you're doing Virge! That bloody hurts – John!" Well, at least Gordon isn't totally out of it; so what made him yell like that? I make the mistake and look him over.

Shit.

Really: S.H.I.T.

Gordon's right leg is stretched out from him and twisted peculiarly, an obvious break. That isn't what's nearly got me hyperventilating though; it's the other injury. He sees my look of obvious horror and tries to grin. It looks more like a grimace.

"Not pretty, huh?"

"I'll say." I manage weakly.

Not pretty is the understatement of the _century_! A thick metal bolt from a ceiling girder has gone straight through his left thigh. As in clean through. As in I can see both sides of it.

I think I'm going to be sick!

No. No, I can't right now, I can't react like this. I've got to help my little brothers and I refuse to be sickened by a little blood! Virgil's hands are coated in the red gore as he applies a second gauze on top of the first blood-soaked one, never once relieving the pressure he's keeping on the wound or removing the first compress. Okay, make that a _lot_ of blood!

"John!" Virgil's voice is harsh and I turn to look at him – anything to get that image of Gordon's leg from my mind. There's a livid burn across Virgil's brow, and he looks exhausted, but beyond that I can't see anything wrong with him. "John..." He reaches out to steady me – I hadn't realised I'd been swaying – and then retracts his bloodied hand. Gordon's blood. The bile rises again.

"John!" This time it's Gordon who shouts my name, but it's with worry, and that makes me shake all feelings of nausea from my head. Gordon is worried about _me_ when there's a nine inch steel bolt impaled in his leg?! Damnit all, this is why I stay in space; I'm useless in these situations! My horror and concern have knocked all professionalism from me. A faceless voice full of pain and fear is something I can deal with from an International Rescue point of view, and although I feel for each and every caller, I can emotionally detach myself because _I can't see them_.

But now's not the time for insecurities, my brother could be _dying_ for all I know. Turning to Virgil I fix him with a steady stare.

"What can I do to help?"

A relieved grin lights his face, and I'm reminded of just how much pressure he must be under as the only one of the three of us to know what he's doing. I know that look he's giving me – he's used since he was old enough to focus on a person – I'm his big brother and now that I'm here everything will be alright. It's nice in a way, only myself and Scott ever get the privilege of helping him like thi-

Crap! Scott....Alan...

In my panic over Gordon I've completely forgotten about the other two! How could I do that???

"Virge, have you heard from the other two?" I don't like how panicked I sound, and the smile slips from is face as quickly as it appeared. He doesn't need to verbally answer me, and I begin to clamber to my feet. "I'll go look-"

"No." He pulls me back to my knees, his eyes briefly glancing on my broken wrist before focussing on the trail of blood from my ear. "You're lucky you even managed to get in here in that state; your balance must be appalling."

I nod, knowing better than to lie to him when it's obvious from my attempt at standing that I'm currently about as steady as a new-born kitten.....Did I just compare myself to a _cat_? Looks like I'm losing it!

"And besides," He continues. "I need your help."

I glance back at Gordon then look hurriedly away again. Virgil's slipped back into 'medic-mode' and is now going through the details of Gordon's injury that I really could have done without. But it doesn't occur to me not to listen; I know that that much blood is _not_ a good sign, and I'd sail through hell and high water if it means helping one of my brothers. Interrupting the flow of medical jargon I repeat my earlier question:

"Virge, what can I do to help?"

His gaze darts from myself to Gordon and I know the eldest of my three younger siblings well enough to tell that something is seriously wrong and he's reluctant to share. I'm about to make a third repeat when he blurts out:

"His femoral artery has been severed."

Wait. What? Please tell me I heard that wrong. For the love of God tell me my hearing's screwed up!

"That's _not_ good, right?" We both glance at Gordon, our frowns confirming his suspicions. He must already be feeling the effects of blood-loss if he even needed to _ask_ that question. I look to Virgil for guidance but he's busy sorting through the sparse amount of medical supplies that are scattered around us. Actually, that's a point...

"Virge, where's the rest of your kit?" I try to keep my voice as calm as I can – nearly impossible considering the situation. He nods his head in the direction of the tangled wall supports.

"I was examining Gordon's broken leg when the tanker exploded and the ceiling came down on us. That's when this-" He indicates to the more serious wound that he is still applying constant pressure to. "-Happened. I got us out, but all our equipment is buried. The hover bikes, the respirators, my med-stuff, the lot." He sounds terse, and a slight tremble to his voice tells me that my little brother is stressed to breaking point. "I need to get him back to Two; all the proper equipment is there, but I need to stabilise him for the move, and we don't have anything to move him on and-" He cuts himself off mid-sentence and takes deep breath to calm himself. "And I'm not helping by freaking out like this."

I reach out and rest my hand on his shoulder. "You aren't freaking out Virge, you're doing fine. Now you worry about the immediate problem and _I'll _concentrate on getting him out of here." I make it sound so simple, but I know it's gonna be a lot harder than just walking him out of this twisted mess of masonry and I have no idea how to make good my promise.

Virgil smiles ever so slightly – he knows just how dumb I'm being. Taking another deep breath he focuses back on the task in hand.

"Okay, we don't have time to fetch anything from Two; he'll bleed out before we're even half-way there. I need to close up the wound at least enough to stabilise him for transport, then we'll concentrate on getting out." And as easy as that my scared younger brother has vanished again to be replaced with a collected and calm medic. It's times like this when I'm so proud and so glad that I have such amazing siblings.

"Okay, what do you need me to do?" I ask. How many times have I had to repeat that now?!

He looks back at Gordon, who's been following our conversation silently. I can see that Virge is trying to phrase a difficult piece of news, and I wonder what in hell could be more worrying than the current situation. Gordon has noticed as well, and he pulls himself up onto his elbows with a grimace of pain.

"For the love of God, Virge, I'm a big boy now; tell me what you're going to do!" He demands, his voice strained but every bit as full of fire as usual. It's comforting in a weird way. Virgil seems to take heart from it as much as I do; because the most genuine smile I've seen since finding the two of them breaks across his face.

"You're right Gords, I'm sorry."

Despite the pain he must be feeling, my red-headed terror of a sibling grins. "You just admitted that I'm right? Damn! Should have recorded that!"

That draws small chuckles from both Virgil and myself, and a flash of triumph crosses Gordon's face at having broken the tense atmosphere; he's a clever one when he wants to be. Virge is looking a hell of a lot more relaxed now as he begins to pick out rolls of bandages with one hand, whilst the other keeps the continual pressure on Gordon's thigh.

"Alright Gords, I'll be honest with you." His voice sounds less harassed now, another good sign. "Your femoral artery has been severed, and yes that's a very bad thing." He waits patiently for Gordon to digest this information and when our little brother nods he continues. "Right, now I need to get you back to Two so that I can see to this properly and possibly start a blood transfusion."

Gordon nods again, his pained gaze focussed intently on Virgil.

"Following you so far." He says lightly, although there's distinct worry building up behind his eyes.

Virgil switches which hand is holding the gauze down to readjust the strapping bound tightly above the wound – which I guess is acting as a tourniquet. "Good. Now, I can't transport you like this, you'll bleed out – infact you would have already done so if I hadn't been here to sort you out." There's a gentle teasing tone to his voice, but I can see the tension creeping back into his shoulders. "To stop that from happening I'm going to put a few stitches in now to keep everything closed for the move back to my 'Bird. Make sense?"

Unfortunately our trouble-loving sibling is still pretty sharp even when in pain and suffering from blood loss. His gaze shoots from Virgil to the pile of twisted masonry and back to Virgil.

"Your med-kit was buried along with everything else." He says flatly.

I look to Virgil for an answer and see that his frown has made a re-appearance; combining with the burn he's received to make him look significantly older. Not that I'll tell him that. Yet.

"Yes, that's where the main problem lies." He says carefully. "I've got bandages aplenty, and my needles and thread were in my pocket at the time but –"

Gordon cuts him off. "You don't have any anaesthetic."

Ah...

I look between the two of them as Virgil nods. Gordon bites his lip, the remaining colour slowly leaching from his face as he sizes up the enormity of what is being proposed. This is big. Scrap that, this is _huge_! How the hell is Virgil expecting to do this?

I think our red-headed-terror is concealing his horror quite well all things considered, but I'm not sure how long that will last. His gaze flickers from his mutilated leg to Virgil and then back again – he's so pale I'm now worried about him fainting. At Virgil's nod I slip round behind Gordon just in time as his elbows buckle and his upper body crashes back down to the floor. I catch his head on my knees, saving him from a rather nasty bump, and he grins weakly up at me; an odd sight considering that to my view he's upside-down.

"Is there no other way we can get him out?" I ask. Huh, I know damn well that there isn't but it's something that needs to be said if only to convince us all that this needs to be done. Virgil doesn't even deign me with an answer, just a raised eyebrow. I sigh heavily and nod. "Fine, what do I need to do?"

Virgil doesn't look at Gordon as he replies: "Hold him down."

Gordon splutters in outrage at that. "Virgil! I'm not a baby; I can deal with you pulling a bolt out of my leg!" He insists, attempting to sit back up again. His glare is so intense that I'm surprised our music loving brother's hair hasn't caught fire. As it is, Virgil just glares back.

"First off, I'm not insinuating that you're a wuss, secondly it'll hurt more than you think it will. And thirdly," His frown deepens. "I'm not pulling the bolt out yet Gords; it's far safer where it is until I can get you back home, or at least into Two. I'm only putting in stitches right now"

This doesn't seem to sit well with Gordon. His mouth opens and shuts a few times before he can find his voice.

"You're leaving it _in_?!" He shrieks. I jump, not expecting this reaction. Gordon is now fighting my attempts to hold him lying down, clearly panicking. "Virge, you gotta get that out of my leg!"

"Gordon!" Virgil can't move very far, considering that he has to keep a constant pressure on the wound, but he shifts enough to place a restraining hand on the red-heads chest. "You know I can't take it out here, you'll bleed out!"

"I don't care!"

I can clearly see what's happening, it's just _dealing_ with it that's the issue. Blood-loss and pain are clouding his judgement; he's obviously not thinking straight if he's freaking out this badly. It's horrible seeing my light-hearted brother in such a state – his eyes are wild with panic as he fights the two of us.

"Virge, please, you gotta take it out, I don't want that thing stuck in my leg any more!" He's as white as a sheet and there's a thin sheen of cold sweat covering his face as he tries to persuade Virgil to his point of view. He's struggling again and Virgil's having a hard time keeping the compression on the wound.

"Gordon." I keep my voice low and soothing, like I'm talking to a frightened animal. Hum, I probably shouldn't tell him I've just compared him like that...However, I've caught his attention and he looks up at me, his frightened breathing slowing slightly. "Gords, calm down, you're going to be absolutely fine." I gently persuade him to lie back down, his head resting on my knees again and I run my good hand through his filthy hair. "Now, do what Virgil says."

He manages a weak grin. "You've got to be kidding, I never do what I'm told."

"This is one time you're going to have to." Virgil states dryly, but not without a gentle teasing tone. There's a long silence as our little brother looks between the two of us. Finally he nods and stops fighting against our attempts to calm him down. I can feel his upper body relax against my knees and he closes his eyes with a deep breath.

A smile crosses Virgil's face. "There's a good little trouble-maker." He adeptly manages to prepare the things he needs with only one hand whilst keeping a firm pressure on the wound – it's amazing how he can do so much whilst diligently making sure the compress remains in place.

Gordon looks up at me, crosses his arms over his chest and reaches up to hold my hands so that he can't struggle even if he wants to. I don't deny him the comfort, despite the pain that shoots through my wrist as I move my arm – he doesn't seem to notice the immobility of the joint. Virgil does, since I catch the admonishing glare he sends me, but he doesn't mention it, and I'm pretty sure that I can cope with this as long as I don't attempt to move it. It's just a dull throb at the moment as it is; as long as the pain doesn't escalate I'll be fine.

There's a sudden crash from the smouldering beams and all three of us glance at them warily – with all the kerfuffle going on here we'd forgotten just how perilous our surroundings still are. We're lucky that this is a false alarm, and as one of the girders falls out of the way Scott's silhouette appears against the remaining flames.

"_There_ you guys are." The relief in his voice is very audible and I can't help my own relief at seeing my big brother safe. He's not looking too worse for wear, thank God, although there's a rather impressive bandage wrapping around his right thigh, and I can see ice-gel seeping through which means it must be a burn.

"Scott!" Virgil looks as relieved as I'm feeling. "You're still in one piece then?" He doesn't wait for an answer and I see his gaze focus on the bag Scott has slung over one shoulder. "You still have your MedKit!"

"Of course, where's yours?"

He nods his head towards the wreckage. "Buried. Chuck yours over; I need to steal some local anaesthetic."

Scott does so without question, and I chuckle as Gordon's eyes follow the bag like it's the Holy Grail.

"Oh thank God!" He breathes, with so much relief in his voice that even Virgil laughs as he measures out the correct dosage of anaesthetic into the hypodermic syringe. "Scott, I don't think words can express how much I love you right now!"

Scott smiles as he kneels down beside us, but I can see the worry in his eyes as he takes in the wound that all our attention has been focussed on. He looks up at Virgil as our younger brother checks the syringe for air bubbles.

"I'll go find Alan. You'll be okay handling this?"

"Yeah, and can you get a stretcher and blankets from Two as well, we'll need to transport him and there's no way he's walking with both legs busted." Virgil replies. He grins at Gordon. "Now Gords, looks like you've been saved by the bell. Think you can handle a shot of local?"

Gordon laughs weakly, relief colouring his voice. "Right now I'd welcome it! I don't think you guys realise how much this _hurts_!" He releases his death grip on my hands, but keeps his fingers tangled with mine for the reassurance. A wince passes over his features as the needle goes into his leg and the anaesthetic is injected. As much as this is preferable to the stitches going in I can sympathise with how much that stuff stings! The fact that it's possible to feel the damn stuff spreading through each and every capillary in the immediate area is not pleasant. However, in a few moments Gordon relaxes against me, and when Virgil asks he confirms that the numbness has set in.

Scott quietly slips away as Virgil finally gets to work. Gordon doesn't watch, and I certainly don't blame him! Now that the initial shock I'd originally felt at the situation has abated I'm not so repulsed by the wound, but even so it's not pretty. How Virgil can be so calm and unemotional whilst doing this I don't know. Then again, I've seen Scott help amputate a woman's arm as she lay trapped under the rubble of her house after an earthquake. I can never admire my brother's enough for being able to do these things.

There's a small sound – only just audible to me with my busted ear-drum but it catches my attention, and I look up.

I can't describe the relief that washes over me when I see my youngest brother shoulder his way through the same gap between the girders that Scott has just left by. He's stumbling slightly, and even in the glow of the fire he looks pale, but when he sees us a small smile appears on his face. My God I'm glad to see him! Now that I know all four of them are alright – or in Gordon's case will _be _alright – the rush of adrenaline in my system begins to fade.

_CRAP_! And as the precious hormone degrades it stops inhibiting my pain receptors.

Ouch.

Well, no time to worry about that now – I'll half-inch a couple of paracetamol off Scott before we make our way back home, I can deal with it. Oh, double ouch! Gordon is digging his nails into my hand.

I glance at him, but with the anaesthetic he's not actually in pain, just disliking the feeling of the needle. My gaze darts straight back to Alan, since he's now become my primary concern. The kid – he's eighteen, I'm allowed to call him that! – still has the blanket wrapped tightly around himself, despite the heat that the fire is chugging out. I frown in consternation at that. Okay, so I'm rusty with my first-aid skills, but I can recognise shock when I see it and I'm seeing it right infront of me in my youngest brother. I can't leave Gords, but I call over to the Sprout;

"Hey, you okay kiddo?"

He nods silently, but his wan smile lightens a little and I think that beyond the shock of the situation and the rescue he's alright. Or at least will be once he's got a hot cup of strong sugary tea inside him. Grandma will see to that, though.

Looking back at what Virgil's doing, even I can tell that the bleeding's slowing substantially. He finally removes all of the gauzes he's had in place to put in the last few stitches and I screw my face up in disgust at the sight of the wound. Gordon also looks down, but by this point the blood-loss has robbed him of the energy to really react to the situation adversely and he just wrinkles his nose.

"That's gonna leave a helluva scar." He mutters. Virgil's still concentrating, so I'm the one that responds.

"Just another to add to your collection of war-wounds Gords." I say cheerfully. He grins up at me, but his gaze isn't as focussed as it should be and I've picked up on the slur in his voice. Damnit all, where's Scott with that stretcher? We need to get our little aquanaut a blood transfusion pretty quick if I'm any judge.

"Okay, there we go." Virgil says, a smile warming his face as he begins tightly re-bandaging around the bolt.

"Guess 'm not gonna be swimming f'r a while." Gordon mumbles.

"No, I'm afraid you won't." Virgil glances up at me with worry in his eyes before leaning over to touch Gordon lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, kiddo, look at me a sec'." He orders gently. The red-head takes a moment to process what was said, and a woozy glare crosses his face at the unintentional 'kiddo' Virge threw in, but he does as he's told.

"Well?" I ask. In my peripheral vision I see Alan edge forward to hear as well. He may not have said anything so far, but the worry he's radiating is almost a visible cloud around him and I turn my head to smile reassuringly at him. He returns it, but I can still see that something is wrong – beyond the concern that is. I'll get Scott to check him over once we're back at the 'Birds.

Virgil busies himself with double-checking the bandages. "The bolt has hit bone, causing a compound fracture of the femur, although that was to be expected. There is also serious damage to the surrounding muscles and connective tissues –" He looks up at me and gives a small teasing grin. "– although I won't go into detail on which ones, since you're not exactly up to speed on anatomy. And as you already know, the femoral artery has been severed which has resulted in blood-loss."

"Tell me about it..." Gordon mutters dramatically. He shifts uncomfortably as Virgil double checks the dressing on his other leg. "Watch it, that wound _isn't_ numbed." He's unable to sound very emphatic, but Virge mumbles an apology anyway.

Scott reappears over my shoulder, and I move out of the way – letting go of Gordon's hands in the process – to let him help Virgil move our little brother onto the stretcher he's fetched. Feeling a bit redundant I start shouldering my way through the narrow passage way that leads to the outside, pushing aside what I can to make it easier for them to manoeuvre the stretcher through after me. Alan follows my lead, pulling debris out of the way. Like me he's only using one hand, but in his case it's because the other is clutching the blanket still, not that the bone is poking out like mine.

I shudder at the memory. Okay, I'll admit it; spending forever in my beloved 'Bird has made me a little...well, _soft_ I guess, in comparison to the others. I just can't handle seeing my own injuries. Yeah. Wuss, I know.

I run out of wall and stumble as my lack of balance tips me sideways. This is already losing its novelty! Turning back I grin at Alan's worried expression. "You still okay kiddo?" He nods, and although I don't believe him I accept the answer for now. I can hardly stand upright; I'm not really in any position to start trying to mother the kid.

Heh, like that's gonna stop me! I wait for him to catch up with me and we walk (well, limp) towards the huge bulk of Thunderbird Two side by side. I may not be able to help him medically, but I can help him by being with him – if Scott's presence makes me feel better then hopefully Alan will cheer up under the 'older brother' influence too.

It takes me a good few minutes to guide myself up the stairs and into the cockpit; my brain keeps insisting that the ground is at a thirty degree slope. I'm hoping that this is a normal side effect to a ruptured ear drum.

Sinking into the pilots chair I stare blankly at the mass of lights, widgets and controls that apparently make sense. At least when I'm sitting the dizziness has gone. Oh goody, a silver lining.

"John?" Virgil's voice crackles through on the com, and I flick it on from my connection.

"Kai Zhala?" There's a small snuffle of laughter from Alan at my reply; I love using other languages, and it bugs the hell out of Virgil since he's pretty useless at anything beyond French. "What's up?" I translate before my younger brother can snap at me – we don't have time for arguments at the moment.

"Gordy's lost consciousness and I'm loath to leave him, can you still remember how to fly 'Two?" I can hear the worry in his voice – Gordon's probably worse than he's letting on. Panic bubbles up inside me; both at how injured our little brother is, and that Virge wants _me_ to fly this mammoth of a ship. "John? Can you?"

He's not panicking, but that's only thanks to his iron self control – I don't need to add to the stress he's obviously under right now. That's what big brothers do right? We protect and comfort the littluns.

"Sure I can."

There's a little snort from Alan and I throw a glare in his direction.

Okay...flying Thunderbird Two. I can do this. My 'Bird has the simulator programs for all of the machines for me to keep up to speed in the operating of them. It's supposed to mean that I'm ready for these sorts of emergencies. Unfortunately those simulators don't account for Virgil's tendency to mess around with and modify the controls. I _think_ I can fly this thing, but I'm gonna have to have serious words with my younger brother about _telling_ me when he's changed things.

I carefully tap out a sequence and am relieved to hear the engines fire up. Feeling somewhat more confident I finish with the rest of the controls and there's the gentle purr that tells me the huge machine is still doing what I'm telling her. Tapping the radio I key in the connection to home.

"Thunderbird Two to Tracy Island, come in Tracy Island."

Dad must be worried since he connects the call in record time.

"This is Tracy Island. Is that you John?"

"Yeah, Gordon's been injured and Virgil doesn't want to leave him unattended."

There's a sharp intake of breath, and I can tell that I've worried him.

"Alan and Scott?"

"Scott's got minor injuries but is okay to fly, and Alan's in shock." I reply. "I'm the only one left to fly Two right now."

"Be careful."

I snort. "Aren't I always?"

"You haven't flown for a long time John..."

I can hear the doubt in his voice and it's irritating. It would be nice if someone in my family had _some_ faith in me.

"I'll be fine. I'll radio in when we're airborne." I cut the link. Thinking about it I haven't cut Dad off in the middle of a call for years – it's generally Alan or Scott who do that, after Dad tries to tell them what to do. I guess I'm somewhat on edge right now. With that as an after thought I open the com-link to the med-bay.

"Virgil, are you and Gordy strapped in? I'm taking off and this could be a little rough."

There's grim determination in Virgil's voice as he replies. "Yeah, we're good. Be careful."

I wish people wouldn't keep _saying_ that!

Okay then. I can do this.

I can see Thunderbird One already in the air and I bite down the nervous feeling in my stomach – here goes nothing...

With a prayer addressed to whom-ever-may-be-listening, I guide the huge machine up into the air and hover her carefully. Yes! Success! Looks like I can do this after all. Alan snickers slightly in the passenger seat as I punch the air triumphantly, with my non-broken arm obviously.

With much more confidence I increase our height and swing her round to face our home-going direction. Hah! I _knew_ I could still do it, piece of cake! All lights are green, all systems are go, things are looking good.

Oh. Oh wait a moment.

My hearing is somewhat impaired right now, but even I can hear that rumbling noise, and looking at how pale Alan's just gone (well, pale-_er_) I think he's hearing it too. I grab the com-link out of instinct.

"Virge, secure everything down there, things are about to get rough!"

"_What_?!"

"Just do it-"

The remaining ethanol tankers explode.

You get all that crap in books about things like this happening in slow motion, well, the only thing in slow-mo around here is my _brain_! I can see the wall of fire shoot up to the height we're cruising at – a hundred, two hundred feet maybe – taking with it the twisted steel and titanium that once made up the rest of the distillery. It's a friggin column of hell-fire and I'm flying right into it. No time to dodge, or weave, or go over. Oh God, _what do I do_???

The only thing I can do. The medical bay is below the helm, and back a little, they're completely exposed to the brunt of the heat at this approach angle. Thunderbird Two is a transporter, she can't handle heat like that! If there was ever some kind of divine power, I could really _really_ do with some help right about now.

Broken arm clamped to my chest – and funny, it's stopped hurting again – I wrench the steering wheel a full three sixty just as we hit the inferno.

Alan's screaming. I'm screaming. Two is screaming. Flames lick at the windshield for a moment – the blistering heat enough to crack it – before the roll progresses and we just get a nice panoramic view of the fire-lit sky. Oh look, the stars are out.

Does this count as shock? Cool.

And then the floor becomes gravity's target once more, and the air infront of us is merely full of ash and dust. We're through the fire.

Wow, anticlimactic or what? I was on the point of having an aneurism about half a micro-second ago, and now it's all over? Where's the logic in that? We could have only been in that inferno for micro – _nano_ seconds, and yet it could have killed us. International Rescue could have lost four of its five pilots. Scott would have become an only child. That thought makes me snigger.

He's always moaned about us and that being an only child would be so much easier, and now it came so close to actually happening. Once the laughter's started I can't stop! I hunch over the steering wheel, giggling like a maniac. I'm laughing so hard that I'm crying!

Or...maybe I've stopped laughing now. I'm _only_ crying.

Yeah.

We nearly died. We nearly died and it would have been my fault. This is why I should be left in Five – I just _barrel-rolled_ Thunderbird Two for Gods sake! There's a voice in the back of my head – my little scientist – telling me that the roll had saved us, that it had distributed the heat evenly across the ship and prevented critical thermal damage and explosion. I kick said little scientist. Right now I don't want to know.

"...John, come _in_ Thunderbird Two!"

"Huh?" Oh man, it's Scott, and he sounds pissed. I gingerly hit the comlink. "H-Hi Scott." Great. My voice has gone all shaky.

"John! Thank God! That was-"

"Stupid, yeah, I know." I grit my teeth and grab the steering wheel with my bad hand so I can use my uninjured arm to wipe the stupid tears away. Now that the fear's dying down, the pain is blooming again.

"Actually, I thought it was incredible."

What? That's such an....unusual thing for my big brother to say, in these situations at any rate.

"Scott?" I ask quietly.

I hear him sigh shakily. "I hadn't even fully realised what was happening, and you had already assessed the situation and acted accordingly. That was....beyond amazing Johnny."

Amazing? My big brother thinks I did something amazing? Childish pride warms me slightly – although I have to admit, it felt anything _but_ amazing to me. Terrifying is a much better description. I laugh softly – ah, and it's nice to know that my voice is less trembling now.

"You aren't the only speedy one, Fly-boy." I can almost see Scott frowning at that. "I've got NASA trained reflexes, remember?"

"Y-yeah." Wow. He sounds really shaken. "God John, I thought I'd lost you all. When I saw that fire..."

"I kinda thought we were for it too." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I know just how true they are. I had really thought I was going to die. My little brothers...I nearly killed them. We just flew through deaths jaws, shook hands with the reaper, flew to hell and back; Like a Bat out of Hell...

"John! Get a grip!"

Jeeze, did I actually just _sing_ that? I don't even _like_ Meatloaf. Another giggle rumbles up my throat. At least, it _feels_ like a giggle, but my ears actually process a sob. I quickly cover it with a cough – to hell with Scott knowing just how scared I was. And how scared I still am.

Damnit all boy, get a hold of yourself! You're a professional, you need to _ act _like one!

I cough again, grip the steering wheel with my good hand, and turn to glance over my shoulder at Alan. In the process of turning, I glue a bright smile to my face.

"You alright there Sprout?"

He still isn't talking. And boy does he look pale. I'm guessing my little barrel-roll didn't exactly help his shock much....I repeat my question, and thank God he at least looks up and nods. His smile looks a little odd, kinda tight and strained. We need to get this kid a cup of tea and pronto.

Mmm, tea. I could do with a cup too, thinking about it. Warm, tasty, calming tea. With milk. Lots and lots of milk. How Scott can't stand the stuff, I'll never know.

"...Radio Dad, he wants to know what just happened?"

Huh? Oh, Scott was saying something. Oops. Radio Dad was it? Probably a good idea.

"Sure Scott, I'll tell him we're on our way." I hit the radio link again, cutting off my older brother before he can reply. He's not going to be happy about that I'm willing to bet. "Thunderbird Two to Tracy Island yet again, come in Dad."

There's static. That can't be good. Never mind, Scott will inform him of what happened, so it's not like it's a major problem or something.

That little scientist/voice of reason has made an unwelcome reappearance; I am well aware that this is very unlike me, _thank you_, stupid voice! What do you _expect_?! I'm obviously going to be irrational and out of sorts. And no I _don't_ need to call Virgil for help, I am perfectly fine and not at all in shock or freaking out in anyway shape or form, so _shut up_!!!

Great. I'm having a blazing row with my own brain. Braaaaain Freeeeeze!

Right. Okay. Deep breath and count to five. Right I'm good, I'm calm. Lavender, think of lavender. That's a quote from somewhere isn't it? Finding Nemo I think. Now _that_ is a good film! Gords is the only other one in the family to like it though, which figures. Hmm, I haven't seen that film in years, I want to watch it now. Maybe once I've got home – once I've made sure all the others are alright and have had medical treatment that is – I'll grab a slice of pizza or something, dive in the shower then curl up in bed and watch Disney movies. Now that sounds like a plan!

But which to watch first? Something heroic, I've always liked superheroes. Hey, do _we_ count as superheroes? The Thunderbirds – rescuers extraordinaire, yeah, we should so qualify! I'll get Virge to write us a theme song when we've all recovered somewhat from this rescue. A big theme song, with lots of fun triumphant bits, and an impressive drumbeat. _Yeah_!

Actually, all things considered, it's probably a good thing that we aren't superheroes. After all; I'm hardly the hero type. Who ever heard of a superhero who sat on his ass all day in a space station writing Starwars fanfiction?! Well, at least my family don't know about _that_ little hobby; I've password protected and locked my files down to the extent that _Brains_ couldn't hack into them if he tried. I'd hate to see what fun Gordy would poke at me if he knew I was writing little 'happy ever after's about Han and Leia......

Scary thought, I just won't go there.

I need to update actually. I'll do it once I'm back on Five. I miss being on Five – life's so much simpler up there, no-ne expects me to fly anything! Well, other than Three, but I can do that with my eyes shut.

"John? Hello? Earth to space-boy, come in Thunderbird Two!"

Huh? Oh, it's Scott. Hi Scott.

"Thunderbird Two, please respond!"

Oops, I didn't reply out-loud – now _that_ is how out of it I am! I hit the com-link. "Thunderbird Two reading you loud and clear."

"John, thank God!" Oh dear, sounds like I haven't been answering for a while. I really hadn't noticed. "What the hell were you thinking about to be that out of it?!" And now Scott sounds pissed.

"I'd just kinda zoned out. Sorry. What is it?"

"You zoned out whilst flying Thunderbird Two." Scott's voice is flat and unamused, that probably wasn't the best thing I could have said.

"What did you want Scott?" Well, I really don't have the patience to deal with him if he's just going to moan at me.

"We're nearing the Island, bank for final approach."

We are? I quickly check the instrument panel infront of me; yup, Scott's right. My brain had actually processed this on automatic during my little digression back there and it's weird to realise I have already started the landing procedure. Cool, go brain.

Okay; stabilise flight, check wind-speed, align approach angle, recheck thrusters, lower landing gear–

What's that scrapping sound?

Lower the landing gear.....There it is again.

Crap.

There are red lights firing up all over the consol, what the hell's happened?!

"John?" And that's Scott again, so not the best time! "John, why haven't you got the undercarriage down?"

"Because we don't currently_ have_ one!" I punch a few more buttons. Oh for the love of God _please _let the reverse thrusters still be working, they're somewhat rather vital!

A loud roar and we're slowing down dramatically. Thank you thank you thank you!!! Somebody up there _does_ love me!

"John-"

"Scott, I'm _really_ kinda busy right now!" I turn the com off completely. Like he could help anyway. Okay, let's _do_ this thing! I flick the intercom to the med-bay – I guess I need to warn the others.

"Virge, is Gordon okay?"

"Yeah, he's woken up again, but he's groggy." Virgil sounds somewhat less stressed, and I'm glad of that.

"Right, you two need to get into the crash positions, we're making an emergency landing."

There's a sharp intake of breath, then; "John, what the _hell_ have you done to my ship?!"

"Nothing, the undercarriage is malfunctioning, but it should be fixable." I've probably just broken a world record considering I managed to get that sentence out _and_ turn the com back off in less than a second. Even so I can practically hear his horrified '_WHAT!?_' echoing throughout the ship. He's not going to be a happy bunny when we've landed – artist or not I doubt he'll see the aesthetics within the spider web-like cracks in the windshield. _His_ windshield.

I'm so dead.

Alright, morbidity, and the assurance of future brotherly vengeance aside, I need to land this baby.

"Alan, crash position." I glance at him and he nods, tight-lipped and pale-faced; he's worse than I thought, the sooner we land the better!

Okay. Landing.

Reverse thrusters to maximum, steady approach angle, nose at 23 degree down-angle – right, here we go.

The general thrum of the engines goes up a tone and then some. I'm not surprised that they're sounding strained, they're built to land a fully functioning ship, and Brains could only do so much to prepare them for this sort of situation. The landing strip is getting closer and closer and I find that once again I've gone into automatic as my fingers fly over the controls – woo, go fingers!

A very quick glance back tells me that Alan is curled over protectively in the crash position. I wish I could do the same – I'm feeling incredibly vulnerable up here at the very front of the ship, how does Virgil do this on a day to day basis???

Okay, the palm-trees are down, the fire-hoses are up and the landing-strip is looming. Here goes nothing...

Down, down, levelling, down, level a little more and-

There isn't really a word for how loud the squeal of metal on concrete is as our green monster touches down momentarily before, um, bouncing. Virgil is going to _kill_ me!!!

Bounce once, twice – with me screaming all the way, this is _not_ good for my blood pressure! – and then we glide (read into that 'we scrape sickeningly across the concrete'). Good God we must have ripped through the base of the ship by now!

I'm screaming, Alan's screaming, the damn _ship_ is screaming – this is like an action movie gone wrong – and for the love of God we aren't stopping! The cliff is looming up like some rocky monster of doom and this stupid hunk of junk won't _stop_!

...This is going to be the lamest death _ever_!

I know that according to general custom my life is supposed to flash before my eyes here. Actually it's not, all I can see are news-paper clippings:

**Thunderbirds ended by wall.**

**Thunderbirds are stop.**

**International Rescue meets Pink Floyd – The Wall.**

**IR grounded by cliff.**

It's not even like they're very _good_ news-paper clippings. To hell with this!

I unclench my bad arm, grip the steering wheel tight with both hands – and God does it hurt! – and wrench it round one eighty.

The screeching under the hull goes up a notch in volume as we veer round. Oh _great_. Now we're skidding into the cliff _sideways_. Come on NASA reflexes, where are you when I need you??? I'm gripping the wheel tight enough to leave prints in the leather – well, at least that means they can identify my body.

Maybe if I close my eyes I won't have to watch...

The whole ship shudders under the impact. The vibrations rip through us – and the chair is getting a _little_ personal – and the cacophony of noise goes up a notch. I wouldn't have though I'd be thankful for a busted ear-drum.

Then, with a very final _thump_ there is silence. Complete and absolute silence.

I open one eye very cautiously. Then both of them.

Oh. Oh boy....

Well, the _good_ news is that we've stopped. The _better_ news is that we're all presumably still alive. But the _bad_ news, the absolutely _dreadful _news is that – and I wish I had died in the crash, because Virgil is going to brutally string my entrails from the satellite dish for this – is that Thunderbird Two has.....um, lost her wing.

Yeah. I'm going to emigrate to Kazakhstan. Hopefully Virge won't find me there.

Having another cautious peak out of the shattered window – another black mark for me – I can just see the smouldering wreckage of what was once a nice green port wing. Well, at least I know that my 'hit the cliff side-on' tactic worked. The wing took the full impact and absorbed most of the power, crumpling up like a paper fan in the process. Did Brains intentionally fit this thing with crumple-zones? Probably.

There's a very quiet moan from behind me.

"Alan?" I carefully stand up. Very carefully since – as stupid as it sounds – I have no idea if I've actually been injured by that crash or not. Oh adrenaline, how I love thee. Looking round I see that the kid is still bent over in the crash position. All things considered he'll probably never want to fly in the same air-craft with me ever again.

"Alan!" Answer me small-fry! I wobble my way over to his seat and crouch down so that I can try to get him to raise his head up. "Ok, I'm gonna need you to cover for me from Virge, he'll kill me when he sees what I've done to the wing." My bad attempt at humour, which doesn't get a response. "Alan?" Does shock make you unresponsive like this? I'm not the medic around here, but I'd kinda like him to answer me, I'm getting a _little_ worried.

"Kiddo, are you alright?" He isn't responding to me calling him 'kiddo' – this looks _bad_.

It suddenly occurs to me that despite all that's happened so far tonight, this is the most scared I've been during the whole jinxed mission.

"Kiddo, please, _please_ talk to me!" And I'm begging now.

Maybe that's what does it, or maybe he's just doing it of his own accord but the squirt raises his head to look at me.

"_Alan_....?"

Bloodless. His face is ashen-grey, eyes huge and staring. I've never seen him look like this and it scares me to death. _What the hell is wrong with him?!?_

"J-John...?" It's such a quiet whisper that I can't hear it and I have to read his lips to know that he's said my name. Slowly, so very slowly, he uncurls – pulling his arms away from his stomach and letting the blanket slide down to puddle on the floor.

I stare.

It's weird – everything that's happened and I kept expecting things to go into slo-mo, y'know, like in the movies. And now time finally does slow to a crawl.

Blood is soaking the front of his uniform, turning it a sickly garish brown. What the hell happened??!

And then I see it.

A flash of silver that seems oddly out of place amidst all the blood draws my attention to the steel pin – one of those industrial things that hold ceiling girders in place – that's protruding neatly out of his stomach. No. No! _For the love of God no!!!_

I'm screaming this. Do I care? Hardly. That pin must have been there since the explosion at the distillery and he hasn't said a thing. Not a single effing _thing!!!_

"_Why didn't you tell me?"_ My voice is hoarse – I think I'm crying.

"Didn't....Didn't want to-to worry you..." He smiles weakly and a thin trickle of blood runs down his chin.

God _no!_

"_Alan!!!"_ I scream his name frantically as he slowly collapses forward into my arms.

MWMWMWMWMMWMWMWMWMWMWMWWM


	2. note

Okay guys, I think I need to say something here.

I know I haven't updated for yonks and that I know that's frustrating but please have patience with me:( I'm flattered that you all like this story, but right now I have very little opportunity to write. The next chapter is in progress, and I'm not just going to leave it like this, but please understand that I can't update right now.

I'm not one of those people who can write a 10,000 word chapter in a night, and right now even if I could I wouldn't. I don't tend to disclose to much personal information, but I need to explain here what the problem is;

I am in my third and final year of a _degree_ in _biochemistry_! This is a HUGE amount of work! I haven't even had time for a Christmas, let alone write a fanfiction. Right now I have exams, a dissertation _and_ an open essay to contend with so please give me some lee-way here.

I promise hand on heart to update – I'd never not finish a story – but I can't right now. I can possibly put up something within the next month, but no promises on holding to that time limit.

I'm sorry to rant since I do love each and every one of you guys, and I'm flattered beyond belief that you even like my insane little ramblings; I just have huge amounts to do right now. Believe me, if I could be writing I would be.

So, until I update, _which I will, I PROMISE!!!!_ I bid you all a very fond farewell and hope that you don't think any worse of me for this exam-induced spaz.


	3. Chapter 3

…**Shock…**

…**No way! It's UPDATED AND FINISHED!**

**Yes, believe it or not I have actually got my sorry ass into gear and finished this. I am so sorry for how long it has taken, and can't thank you all enough for your patience and encouragement! I have had some of the nicest reviews ever for this piece so far and I love you all who have written them, faved this or put it (or me) on alert. Thank you all!**

**Also, many huge hugs and thanks to my life's blood and beta, Manu, and a quick dedication to my sister, who has exams this week so needs some cheering up **

**So peoples, with no more gilding the lily and without any further ado, here is the chapter.**

**MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMMWMWMWMW**

"_Why didn't you tell me?" My voice is hoarse – I think I'm crying._

"_Didn't...Didn't want to-to worry you..." He smiles weakly and a thin trickle of blood runs down his chin._

_God no!_

"_Alan!" I scream his name frantically as he slowly collapses forward into my arms._

MWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWMWM

Where am I?

God my head hurts! What the hell happened? And – oh Yay, repetitiveness – Where the hell am I?

I open my eyes and glance around, which isn't overly helpful as my vision is blurred. This is not making life any easier for me here. Okay, status report; what hurts?

On second thoughts, what _doesn't_ hurt?

I raise my head ever so slowly and blink hard a few times. This doesn't improve matters when all that happens is my pounding headache increases. Ooh, I'd forgotten about my ear-drum issue too – the room is _spinning_!

Okay. Piece together what I can remember. This may take a while.

Alright. There was the rescue. That's clear enough. We got all the people out and then that tanker went up. Well, that explains my injuries. And then...Oh yeah, I had to fly Two.

Fire. Smoke. Screaming. Spinning.

Man I hate remembering when things go wrong! And Gordy was hurt badly, I remember the blood. And...

My stomach feels like a two ton weight has just been dropped on it.

_Alan..._

I remember now.

Of course, we'd landed – well, crashed – and...and he'd been bleeding so much. I'd panicked. Virgil had come running in – I guess Scott was taking care of Gordy – and he had taken over and got the kid wrapped up in one of the space blankets we keep in the emergency lockers in Two. Virgil wasn't looking great at the time, although he was trying not to show it – silly kid, you can't hide these things from your older sibling. He didn't even mention the missing wing. That's how worried he was.

What happened after that...?

I can't remember much but I can make a pretty good guess that we got Gords and the sprout to the infirmary. Guess Brains was there to help out and all – kinda useful having a genius here who's got three doctorates, especially since one's in medical science.

So. Alan and Gordon – I can safely conclude – are in the infirmary. Virge, Scotty and Brains will be in there with them, sorting them out, and Dad will be there panicking.

Where am I then? Why am I not with them?

My head throbs, I don't think my brain is up to much work right now and even trying to disentangle a memory is too much.

I blink owlishly again and look around more slowly.

Green. Lots and lots of green.

Apparently I'm still in Two. I'm not entirely sure the reasoning behind this but apparently it had made sense to my semi-conscious self. Sooo...I'm kinda semi-slumped over Two's consol, with a thumping headache and not much of a memory to tell me why I'm still here.

I think I must have been _very_ out of it. Shouldn't I be in the infirmary with my family? Shouldn't I be checking that Gordon is alright, that Alan is still...alive.

The enormity of this feels like a bowling ball sitting on my stomach. My brothers could be _dying_ and I'm up here? How out of it _was_ I?

I can't use that as an excuse!

Resting my hands on the consol I heave myself to my feet.

_'sbeen_!

I crash to my knees.

My headache is now threatening to send my brain flying out of my ears and I raise one hand to my temple in agony. Good God I'd been _stupid_ not to expect that! My left arm hangs uselessly by my side as I curl over. I don't know how much more damage I've done to it by putting my full body weight on it, but I'm betting it's not good. There's a sickly wet feeling trickling down my wrist and I look at it just long enough to confirm that my arm is bleeding again. However far that bone had slipped out originally, it's probably twice as bad now.

_Damnit_!

I hug my useless, mangled arm to my chest and slowly shift position so that I'm sitting on my knees, and I reach up with my good hand to grab purchase on the console again. Okay. Slowly this time. My hand shakes as I tighten my grip – I don't think I trust my own arm right now to haul myself upright. Tough.

The swift movement as I rise to my feet causes the blood to drain from my head and my vision blacks in spectacularly. Ooh look, stars...

And I've fallen back to my knees.

Damn.

For the love of all that's holy I've got to get back down to the main house to check on the others! Okay body, one more time...

_Ouch_!

I vaguely feel my head hit the floor as my useless legs buckle yet again. Thank God for reflexes, since at least I swung my bad arm out of the way of the impact.

It seems to be automatic that I've squeezed my eyes tightly closed in some bizarre attempt to stop the pain in my head. It's not like it helps, but I do it anyway.

And now the floor's making my cheek grow cold.

Not just cold either. There's a sticky wetness sliding across my cheek that feels like blood...oh _great,_ my ear-drum's bleeding again. Funny, I didn't know a bump on the head could do that, ruptured or not it should have scabbed over or whatever these things do by now.

Why am I just lying here? I've got to make sure the others are alright!

Should I try to get up again? My whole body is screaming at me not to move, but I can't bring myself to just lay here without knowing what's happened to my little (and older – Scott didn't look great either) brothers.

Come on, I can do this. I learnt to sit up when I was a few months old – this action should not be evading me now! Alright. If I put my weight on my non-broken arm and _slowly_ ease up to a –

_Ouch_!

Somehow I'm back on my side again. Odd that. Something is telling me that perhaps I should think this over before trying again.

My brother's are in trouble.

Okay, that was a quick think about it.

This time I manage to raise myself to a sitting position. Success! Okay, now to conquer the art of standing...My knees are buckling under me again, notgoodnotgoodnotgood-

"John! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Hands catch me under my arms, stopping me from catching my head on the edge of the consol. I latch onto my saviour's wrist with my good hand, determined not to fall again. Who-ever it is helps me sit down in the chair, which is a bit of a blow since this now means I'm right back where I started.

Looking up I catch sight of tousled brown hair, although thanks to my blurry vision that's all I can really make out. I appear to be viewing the world through the bottom of a thick glass. The irrational part of my brain – which is currently high on pain and adrenaline – wonders if this is how Brains sees without his glasses. If that's the case, poor Brains.

"John. Hey, are you with me?" He – it's a male voice so I'm making assumptions here – gives my shoulder a gentle shake. I blink to clear my sight a little (funny, when I was on my own I had thought I could see) and nod. "How many fingers?"

I look down as a hand is held infront of my face. Well, I know it's only one hand, but my eyes insist that there are two.

"Three?" I hazard a safe bet, but a worried intake of breath tells me that I'm wrong. "Four?"

"Stop just guessing!" My companion kneels down infront of me and I can see a smudge of blue where his eyes are. Scott then. Hello Scott. He gives my shoulder another little shake and I glare at him as best I can.

"Stop doing that!" My protest doesn't sound half as emphatic as I would like. I sound a bit like a whiney kid actually.

Blurry eye-sight or not I can see Scott frown at me. "John, what are you doing here?" He asks. His voice is too loud and goes through my head like a buzz-saw. I suppose he realises this when he repeats the question in a quieter tone. I shrug slightly in reply. I have no idea what I'm doing here, besides trying to get out. Who can say what my thought processes were; I was nearly unconscious on my feet at the time.

This apparently isn't a good enough answer. I smile hopefully at him, but he shakes his head. I think I'm in trouble... On the up side at least I don't have to try and get myself down to the medical-bay, Scott can fill me in on what's happened.

"Are the others alright? Alan and Gords, are they okay?" I'm gripping his arm tight enough to bruise, but I think he'll understand that I'm somewhat anxious to know if my brothers are still _alive_! Answer damn it!

"Gordon's going to be fine." Scott carefully removes my fingers from his arm – possibly to stop me from pulverising the bone. "Virgil and I have sorted his leg out and given him a blood transfusion. He should be fine in a few days or so."

Thank God! Some of the tight feeling in my chest eases at that news. Gordon'll be fine...

The panic rushes straight back.

"And Alan?"

His frown deepens and there's that horrible feeling down my spine that I usually associate with an ice-cube slipping down my back.

"Scott, what's happened to Alan?"

His hands move to rest on my shoulders, keeping me in the seat. Whether he believes this will calm me down or not is debatable but it's not working! I need to know about Alan!

"He'll live."

"_What_?" What kind of crappy, useless answer is _that_? "What do you _mean_, 'he'll live'?"

Scott looks wretched – I probably shouldn't be shouting at him like this. "Brains has said he'll live, but he's got extensive internal injuries and he may not be able to recover properly."

I feel sick. Really and truly sick. "What do you mean?"

"For the love of God John!"

OW! Damn that hurts! Why'd he have to yell, my head is pounding enough as it is.

"Understand what I'm telling you, John." He's lowered his voice again, and there's a slight edge to it now that says he's guilty about hurting me. Good. "Alan's been very seriously hurt; it's a miracle he didn't die before we could treat him."

The image of that huge steel pin embedded in his stomach flashes across my mind. Oh God I feel ill just thinking about it...

"John!" His hands grab hold of my upper arms, steadying me. Not just ill apparently – faint too.

"What..." My mouth feels like parchment and I swallow dryly. "What's going to happen?"

"I don't know yet. Brains says to wait out the next 24 hours and if there's been no improvement then he'll call in a specialist."

That doesn't instil me with a sense of confidence. More a sense of dread really.

"He's got to be okay." My voice sounds funny to my ears – soft and slurred. Maybe it is. There's a very familiar and dreaded feeling creeping across my forehead – that sort of prickling of tiny needles that denotes a cold sweat. Uh oh, I know this sensation...

"John? Are you alright?"

It seems like someone has clamped a sponge over my ears –Scott's voice is muffled. Not. Good! Do I have time to warn him? Not really, my vocal chords have frozen up.

What a nuisance...

"_John...!"_

"_...Don't want to move him yet. I'll bring him up once he's awake."_

"_Okay, you know best, we'll see you soon."_

I'm sure I know those voices, but right now I can't remember my _own_ name. I do have a name right? I'm sure I do, and it's a good one too – although right now it's escaping me. Meh.

I'm sure I should care a little more than I am that I can't remember who I am and what my name is. There's an annoying niggling little feeling that something is wrong but I can't focus on that either, I can't focus on _anything_! I'm sure I don't usually spend most of my time on some sort of weird acid trip, so what's going on?

"John? Johnny-boy are you waking up?"

Ah hah! John! I knew it was a cool name! I'm John, John...somebody. Never mind, I'll get to that later, who is it talking anyway? That's definitely a familiar voice, a familiar and _nagging_ voice. The name 'Scott' comes to mind...

"Hey, answer me kiddo."

"Kiddo?"

Ooh, I said that out-loud, my vocal-chords are working again, that's nice to know. Lets see if my eye-sight is back to it's normal unblured self.

Mop of brown hair, worried frown, concerned blue eyes...that's Scott alright. And that means I can see better than before.

"Hey." Hmm, my voice is working, but I can't say it sounds very pleasant right now. I can't see much beyond Scott since he's leaning over me. "Where am I?"

"Two's medical bay, you collapsed up in the cockpit."

Oh yeah, so I did. And I still don't know what I was doing there to begin with.

"...milligrams, so you shouldn't be in any pain for now, and I've reset your arm."

And I just missed the majority of what my brother has been talking about – he isn't going to be impressed. Something about painkillers and my arm...?

"Did you hear what I said?" He seems to have realised I wasn't listening and sighs in that annoying fashion of his. "I've drugged you up and reassembled your arm."

Now I _know_ that isn't what he said the first time round, but I appreciate it brought down to lay-mans terms; I can't get to grips with medicine even on a good day.

"Thanks." That's about all my brain can come up with right now. I struggle to sit upright and notice that although the accursed dizziness is still in vogue; my head no longer hurts like it had. Hallelujah for painkillers! Scott's looking at me with that expression of concerned exasperation that he pulls off so well. Actually, it isn't really doing its job right now since I can see that I'm not the only one hurt. "Is your leg alright?"

Because it really doesn't _look_ alright! Nice big blue freeze pack – a new one rather than the temporary thing from the rescue. He shrugs the question off like I'm asking about the weather.

"It's fine. Now lay back down, I don't want you collapsing again."

Like hell am I listening to that sort of advice! I don't feel in the least bit like I'm going to lose consciousness! And besides, there are more important things on my mind.

"Is Virgil okay?"

"Stressed out but essentially fine, now lay back down!"

"No. I want to see Alan and Gords!"

"Not right now. Wait until you're feeling a little better."

For the love of God Scott! I can't believe he's being so obtuse! He should know me well enough to understand that there's not a chocolate teapots chance in hell that I'll listen to him given our current situation. I want to see my younger brothers. If he has a problem with this then he'll just have to live with it.

To emphasise this I swing myself round to sit on the edge of the bed before trying confidently to stand up.

Ack! Ear-drum! No balance!

I promptly fall back onto the bunk – which is more painful than it sounds – and glare at Scott. The bastard's actually laughing! Well, smirking, but it's the same thing in my book when I'm the butt of the joke!

"Fine. I see that there's no stopping you." He holds his hand out and when I accept he helps me to my feet again. The world still spins, but with my brother's arm round my shoulders I'm steadier on my feet. Suddenly the journey from this silo all the way up to the main house and the med-bay feels like miles! Maybe this isn't such a great idea…

"Okay, lean on me and we'll get to the elevator for starters."

I never fail to be amazed at how Scott seems to know exactly what I'm thinking. He loops my uninjured arm over his shoulders and we slowly make our way out of Two.

"You _do_ realise that Virge is going to kill you right?" I'm sure there's an inappropriate amount of humour in my brother's voice. I stare at the huge bulk of the craft as we ascend in the elevator that runs up the wall of the silo. There's a slight distortion due to the clear Perspex, but I can easily see just how damaged the ship is.

"Yeah, I've realised." I can feel my heart sinking right through the floor. If I wasn't so worried about Alan and Gordon I'd fear for my own life.

The paint along most of the hull has blackened and peeled – so that her main colour is now a sort of muddy grey, and the windshield is an absolute mess. We're going to need to repaint the whole thing and replace at least two thirds of the windscreen segments – this isn't good.

"You haven't seen the worst of it yet." Scott says grimly.

There's more?

The elevator has nearly reached the silo roof now and we've finally got a view over the top of the craft to look over the other wing.

Where the other wing _should_ be.

Oh God. It's a given that Virgil will probably never speak to me again for this, but on top of that it hadn't occurred to me how we're going to repair this. Thunderbird Two's port wing has crumpled up like a concertina, squashed against her side and caving in part of the wall. Not only that but it's not even the whole wing, a good portion of the tip has been sheared off on the impact.

"Oh God..."

"Whoa, easy!" Scott supports me as I sway unsteadily. How long will fixing her take? A month? Two months? We'll be out of action for far too long! "Don't think about that yet." Scott's reading my mind again. "We'll fix her. It'll be fine, she's fixable."

"The wing..."

"It can be replaced. The windscreen too, it can all be sorted out."

He's right. I know he's right. It's just a hell of a shock seeing the damage which – admittedly – is mostly my fault. The view vanishes as the elevator takes us up beyond the silo and all I can see out of the clear plastic doors is the concrete tunnel that is taking us up through the island. We should probably give this thing a paint job at some point; poured cement is not exactly scenic.

Why am I thinking about interior decorating? Guess I'm trying not to think about the state Gordon and Alan are going to be in when I see them.

The speed that the elevator goes at isn't doing my balance any favours and as we slow to a halt and the doors slide open I realise that I'm wobbling again as I try to step out. Scott chuckles, his arm round my shoulders and holding me steady.

"Shut up, this isn't funny!"

His laughter dies down into a smirk as we make our way along the hall. The med-bay is as close to the silos as we could build it – ease of access and all that – so it isn't normally a long walk. Normally being the key word here since 'normally' I don't have a dead ear-drum and Scott isn't limping heavily.

"Is your leg alright?"

"No problem, can barely feel a thing." His voice is too cheery and his smile too big – it's obviously in agony, and he can't bring himself to say so. "How's the dizziness?"

The floor is tilting at strange and disturbing angles; it's taking all of my concentration to stay in a straight line. To be honest it's like being drunk. "Fine. Don't really notice it." I say breezily.

His hand squeezes my shoulder – we both know that we've lied but that's okay, it's kinda what we do and we understand each other perfectly. After all, what sort of Tracy admits to crippling pain anyway?

We reach the med-bay and I notice a bloodied hand print on the door-frame where someone has obviously steadied themselves. Scott ignores it – for all I know it may be his – and slides the door open.

"John!"

Dad jumps to his feet and rounds the bed he was sitting beside, shielding my view of the bed's occupant.

"John, are you okay son?" He looks me up and down, his face a picture of concern, before pulling me into a gentle hug. We're not a very hug-centric family, but sometimes the situation calls for it and when one is in pain and scared it can make you feel so safe. "Lets get you cleaned up." He leads me over to a chair between the two beds and I slump down.

Scott starts to fuss around with gauze and wipes – guess I'm still a bit mucky – but I only have eyes for Alan and Gordon.

There's...Oh hell, I don't know the names, I'm an astronomer for crying out loud! Tubes. Lots and lots of white and clear tubes. I survey Gordon first, since he's a little more tube-free than Alan.

Where to start? There's a huge bandage around his left thigh which I know is hiding that horror of an injury I saw earlier. His other leg is also wrapped up, but in thin strips of hardened gel that Brains had invented to deal with broken bones. It's great stuff really; when heated it becomes malleable and can be wrapped around the broken limb like a normal cast, then hardens so that the bone is held immobile. So much better than plaster of Paris – less mess and it's reusable. Beyond that there are the occasional plasters over the grazes on his arms and some impressive bruising. An IV – hah, I know _some_ terminology! – feeds into his left arm and I follow the snaking lines up to a cluster of bags, one of which is a grisly orange brown. Blood transfusion, _bleugh_!

"How is he?" My voice is scratchy and a glass of water appears in my peripheral vision.

"D-doing much b-b-better now." Brains' stutter has returned now that all the hype has worn off and I gratefully accept the drink from him. My God does it taste good, I hadn't realised just how damn thirsty I was! "Th-th-the pin was removed c-c-cleanly and he should have full use of h-h-his leg again." He gestures to the small table on the other side of Gordon's bed and I see the steel bolt lying there in all its innocent glory. Someone had taken the trouble to wash it down too. "He a-a-asked to keep it a-a-as a memento." I guess he must have seen my expression. Who would want to keep _that_?

Shaking the proof of Gordon's insanity from my mind I turn my head to look at my youngest sibling, and the breath catches in my throat. Remember what I said about the tubes? Yeah. Hell of a lot of tubes. Dad eclipses my view before I can really get a handle on how bad Alan is looking, but the glimpse is enough.

"Don't start worrying just yet, Johnny." Scott's hand is on my shoulder, I think he's trying to be comforting but right now he's not doing too good a job of it. He swipes the gauze across a cut on my cheek that I didn't know I had, but now it stings like the blazes!

"Will Alan be okay?" I brush my older brother aside and look up at Dad. He doesn't look good. Scratch that, he looks like he's just walked the Marathon de Salbes, but at my question he forces a smile. And I've seen that expression before too; it's the one he wore when Mum was in hospital after the accident and we kept asking if she'd be alright.

"It's going to be tough but he'll pull through."

I remember what Scott said about calling a specialist and feel queasy again. Dad puts his hands on my shoulders – a comforting gesture – and I look back up at him. His smile is less forced now, but still sad.

"Is he free to go Scott?"

I glance at my older brother, who nods tersely.

"Good." Dad's voice takes on the commanding tone he uses on rescues. "Now John. Go to the kitchen – Grandma will feed you. You will do exactly what she says, and eat what she tells you to eat. Then you are to shower and sleep. I don't want to see you again for at least eight hours."

Sounds reasonable – except for one major flaw.

"I don't want to leave Alan and Gords until I know they'll be okay."

"Sitting here won't make them recover any faster."

I'm not really in the mood for such logic. "I want to be here in case anything happens!"

"Realistically s-speaking nothing can r-r-really happen." Brains has come back over and decided to put in his two-pennies-worth. "Th-th-they're both stable a-a-and sedated so w-w-won't wake up until tomorrow at the very least."

And….? I fail to see why I can't stay with them. However, Dad looks stressed enough as it is, and as much as I want to stay here I know that doing so will just make him worry that I'm not getting enough rest myself. Also, food sounds very appealing right now….

"Promise you'll tell me if anything happens? You'll come and wake me up?" I demand. Normally I would refuse point blank to be chivvied away from my injured brothers – but realistically speaking I know that I'll be more of a hindrance than help at the moment. Dad's relieved smile tells me that he's happy with my decision, and I can see the tenseness leave Scott's shoulders too.

"Of course."

Brains nods happily, then turns to my older brother. "y-y-you too, Scott."

"What?"

He doesn't look happy, but Dad's nodding too. "He's right, you need to rest, Scott. You've been on your feet since the emergency call."

"Yes, but – "

"And John will need some help getting to the kitchen; he looks woozy."

I what now? Since when? I look up at Dad, who winks slightly. Ah, a ploy to get Scott to do as he's told. My older brother glances down at me and I offer a pathetic little 'I'm-injured-and-I-need-help' smile which causes him to sigh.

"_Fine_! But I'm coming straight back here!"

Dad shrugs complacently – which is odd until I remember that we're going to the kitchen and Grandma will be there. There's no way in hell Scott can disobey her!

My elder brother looks like he knows he's lost the fight before it's even begun as he nods grumpily.

My complete and total lack of balance becomes obvious once again when I try to stand up, and Scott once again loops his arm around my shoulders to keep me upright.

"Think you can make it as far as the kitchen?" He asks dryly. Oh ha ha, watch me laugh at your scathing wit!

I don't deign to reply.

When did I get into bed?

My memory has once again decided to wipe over the past God-knows-how-long with white noise, so I can only assume that I made it to the kitchen and then to my room. I don't feel hungry any more so that backs up this theory, and from the feel of it my hair is clean so I must have showered.

Yay for running on autopilot.

What time is it anyway?

The little blue figures on my alarm clock cheerfully inform me that I've only been asleep for about three hours. Three hours… That should appease Dad surely? Maybe I can sneak back to see how the guys are, then I'll come back and nap for another hour or so.

Ow!

Okay, something protested to that idea! My head I think.

Alright, sneak out and check on them then come back and doze for another two hours or so and – OW!

Alright, alright! Then come back and _sleep_ for at least _five_ hours! There's no corresponding stab of pain so I assume my brain has agreed with me.

Why am I talking about my brain as a separate entity…..?

This is what happens when you live in outer space (well…orbit at any rate) for too long.

Now. I have slept, albeit only a tiny bit, and I have had food – probably quite a bit too, knowing Grandma – so let's see if I can walk any better now.

Believe it or not I do declare I'm actually going in a straight line. This is an improvement! I find the door handle in the dark and quietly slide my door open to peer out into the corridor.

It's empty, as I'd expected and only the gentle blue glow of the fish-tank that is part of the wall between this corridor and the dining room provides any light. Even the fish look sleepy, but that could just be me. As far as I know fish always look sleepy.

Empty and mostly dark I'd counted on, what hadn't entered my equations was how damn cold it is! Why has someone decided we need the air-con on? And _why_ did I not bother with my slippers? Hindsight is a wonderful thing, especially since I can't be bothered to go back and get them now, or fetch my dressing gown.

Actually – it's not _quite_ as dark as I'd thought; it looks like the living room light is on. Why's anyone in the living room? Tintin or Kyrano maybe?

I quietly push the door open to be confronted with an overly large close-up of what my inner nerd immediately tells me is the control panel of the Millennium Falcon. The sound is down so low as to be almost inaudible but I catch an unmistakable Wookie growl which confirms my suspicions'; someone is watching StarWars. And – being the smug geek I am – I can already tell which film and where abouts into they are. I am _way_ too obsessed with this fandom!

"John?"

I finally tear my eyes from the screen to see that Scott and Virgil are occupying the sofa, the double-quilt from Virgil's room haphazardly thrown over them.

"If you're trying to sneak into the medic-bay don't bother." Scott says with a tired grin. My guilty look must have given me away since he chuckles quietly. "Virge and I both tried – Dad's locked the door."

Damn. I slump down onto the sofa next to him. "Did he say how the kids were doing?"

"Gordon's well into the clear." Virgil's floated over from the other side of Scott. "As long as the wound doesn't become infected – and there's no reason why it should – Brains thinks he'll be fine. Won't be walking any time soon mind you, but at least we saved the leg."

"And Alan?" I must admit, I'm more worried about him at the moment; not only has everyone been consistently saying that Gordon would be okay from the start, but I also feel responsible for Alan. I should have _noticed_ that something was wrong!

Scott smiles again, and although it's still tinged with tiredness it's a lot more genuine. "Brains is quietly confident. He's saying that as long as Alan continues to improve as he has been over these past few hours then things are looking good for him."

I hadn't realised just how badly I'd been worrying until I hear those words and the hitherto unnoticed tenseness suddenly leaves my shoulders. He's going to be okay. They're both going to be okay…

"How about you two?" Now that the big worry is mostly laid to rest I can let the little worry out to play.

"We're fine." Scott looks surprised at the question until I glance pointedly at his wounded leg – the bandages protruding from under the leg of his pyjama shorts. "Oh, that? It's nothing."

Virgil snorts. "Third degree burn. Yeah, _nothing_, Scott."

"Well it's not like it's serious."

It's a strange family where we don't class third degree burns covering the majority of ones lower leg 'serious'.

"What about you, Virgil?" I'd figured Scott would be macho, but I had also been pretty sure that his only injury was the burn. I have no idea if Virgil was hurt beyond the scald down his forehead.

"Yeah, I'm fine. A couple of minor burns – barely blistered – and some rather impressive bruising. I think I came away rather better off than the rest of you." He leans forward to look at me past Scott, and I notice that the burn across his brow hasn't even got gauze over it. Apparently he really means it when he says minor. "And speaking of, how are _you_ feeling now?"

Me? "I'm fine." I say breezily. He arches an eyebrow at me, but currently it's true. "Look, my arm aches a little, but nothing an ibuprofen or two won't fix, and my busted eardrum won't heal immediately so I'm as good as I could be right now."

"And emotionally?" Scott adds.

What? "I'm _fine_."

"Not at all shaken up by the aerial acrobatics from earlier?"

Virgil nods emphatically. "I'm sorry for dropping you in it like that with flying Two, but I needed to be with Gordon. If I'd known that tanker was gonna go…."

I stare at my little brother incredulously. He seriously thinks he could have done any better? Not in a derogatory way, obviously, but there was absolutely no other way that that explosion could have been avoided. True, he would have taken off quicker and maybe we'd have missed it, or maybe we'd have been directly over it, there's no way of knowing.

"What's done is done." I'm surprised at how matter-of-fact I sound. "You made the right choice, and because of that Gords is going to be okay. Just because I'm in space most of my time doesn't mean I didn't start out as a pilot; NASA trained my reflexes to a needle point. You need to be able to rely on all of us to fly your ship when you can't, there's nothing to be _sorry_ for."

"He did a bloody good job, Virge." Scott adds, much to my delight. "Could you have seen that explosion, been able to assess the situation _and_ act accordingly in the time-frame?"

To be honest I really think he could, Virgil flies Two as if she's an extension of himself – I had the disadvantage of having to think through each manoeuvre.

"It's a moot point." I say, before Virgil has to answer. "And to your earlier query Scott: yes I was a little shaken up by it all, but sleep and food has helped a lot."

Virgil smiles at my quick save. "Speaking of being shaken up, what that hell happened with the landing? I've _never_ heard her make a noise like that before!"

It's strange how the mind works. When it was happening every single detail seemed to be crystal clear and emblazoned across my brain. But now…..Now I really can't remember much. "The undercarriage malfunctioned – I think it must have been damaged in the explosion." I say slowly. "I tried to land her as best I could, but – I'm sorry Virge, my training never covered crash-landing her with no landing gear, I had to improvise!"

"Hell of an improvisation." Scott turns to our younger brother, taking the spot-light off of me – thank God, since Virgil gets antsy about his ship. I let my attention wander back to the film as Scott takes up the tale of how I landed. It hadn't occurred to me how bad it must have looked from his point of view, and obviously Virgil had no idea at all what was happening since he was down in the med-bay.

My attention is brought back as Scott taps me on the knee.

"I raided a few of our security cameras and found out why I found you in Two's silo." He says nonchalantly. I perk up a little, since _I_ have no recollection whatsoever.

"Apparently you'd decided that you were getting in peoples way in the infirmary." My older brother informs me. "At least, that's what you told Kyrano when he met you in the hall, but he was under the impression you were going to your room. I followed you on the security tapes going back down to where you abandoned Two and you got the elevator trucks out of the hanger."

I did? I have absolutely no memory of this and it's kinda scaring me….

"You then used the trucks to get Two back where she belongs, and did quite a nice job of it too." Scott concludes, although Virgil's condescending little snort makes me think that he's just trying to make me feel better about losing an entire chunk of my memory. Still, makes sense as to why I was there. I must have gone back into Two to double check that all the systems were off then fallen asleep there. Or collapsed. Collapsed is probably more likely.

"But seriously, are you alright?" Virgil's gone back to the original train of thought and is still worrying about me. "I mean, flying like you did with a broken arm…You really were superb."

"It's what we're trained to do, isn't it?" I ask casually, and he smiles.

"The Thunderbirds; above and beyond the call of duty."

"Don't ask, don't tell more like." Scott quips.

Virgil and I both turn to stare at him. Did he _really_ just say that….? He returns our incredulous gaze and I can actually see him rewind that last sentence in his head.

"Not like that!" He finally blurts out. "I meant in the 'we're a secret organisation' sense!"

_Sure_ Scott, sure.

The laughter helps though. It also breaks up the conversation which is useful from my point of view. Sure, I'm not a weeping wreck in the corner, but the whole thing did shake me up and right now I don't actually want to talk about it. Which seems to be an alien concept to my brothers.

Thank God for Star Warsis all I can say.

We settle back to continue watching the film – we've got to the good bit where they're trying to fly the Millennium Falcon through the asteroid belt – and I steal a corner of duvet to curl up under. It's a break from tradition actually – when we've had a particularly hard mission it's more usual to find Scott or Virge parked in front of re-runs of The Simpsons. They must both be as 'fine' as I am to bring out the big guns and put on a film. Even a comfort film like this one.

Still, it's calming, it's keeping out from under Dad's feet and to some extents it's lulling us to sleep. Always a good thing….

"By the way Virgil."

Damn! Scott's voice has jerked me awake. I hadn't even realised I'd been dozing.

"Mmm?" Sounds like Virgil isn't all that awake either.

"How are you going to fix the wing?"

"What wing?" He sounds exasperated, and I don't blame him. What the hell is Scott blabbering on about now?

"Two's port wing? You do _know_ it's currently a sheared lump of metal lying on the runway, right?"

I am now _fully_ awake as a sudden chill grips me. Is my elder brother _trying_ to get me killed?

"It's _what_?"

"Well, it was the only way John could stop her from crashing into the cliff-face." Scott explains.

Vigil is now leaning around the antagonist and is staring at me. It's difficult to really pinpoint his expression, but find a point somewhere between disbelief and blind fury and you'd probably be close enough.

"_You ripped off her wing?_"

I…I actually don't know what to say. My younger brother is…and I'm trying to think of a good description here…_incandescent_ – yes, that works – incandescent with rage. Maybe it's time I thought up some last words…

"Now Virgil, he did save all your lives." Scott is _not_ helping the situation much, but at least Virgil stops trying to scramble over him to throttle me.

"He broke my ship!"

"She's fixable."

"He_ broke_ my _ship_!" Virgil's acid-spitting glare swings back to face me. "John you are such a…a…"

Interesting, he's actually struggling to find a swear-word bad enough.

"You're such a _smeg_!"

But he's smiling as he screams it at me, and I know that – although he is _not_ happy with the state I left his ship in – he's not as mad as I'd thought. But Smeg? _Really_?

Remind me to stock up on some Black Adder insults, _they'll_ give him pause for thought!

Smeg indeed!

MWMWMWMWMMWMWMWMWMWMW

**Dear God…..I actually finished it…**

**Once again I can't thank you all enough for putting up with how I long I take to write things, and I hope that this didn't disappoint after such a long wait.**

**Until next time, Love and Hugs to you all!**

**Xoxoxoxoxox**

**Cip**


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